Louise Wener This Life Interview

As front woman of 1990s band Sleeper,
Louise Wener was the cool girl we all wanted to be. She tells Anna
Pursglove how she went from sex, drugs and rock n' roll to writing
books in Brighton.

Being a lonely, asthmatic child made me crave fame.
I was an ugly, short-sighted kid with chronic asthma, so I spent a lot
of time off school and in my own company. I got very good at watching
and listening  and inventing: I had a big imaginary landscape. People
from the part of Essex where I grew up seemed to me to have this
incredibly static, slightly claustrophobic existence, and I wanted my
life to have colour and magic.

I had no rock n roll credentials.
So when I went to Manchester (University, where Wener studied politics
and English) and suddenly there was an ad for a singer or a guitarist on
every notice board, it was all a bit of a revelation. Id come from a
sleepy little suburb, brought up mostly on pop music. I just wanted to
be famous, like Blondie or Bananarama. Of course, once Sleeper got big, I
had to pretend to be all indie and earnest but, in truth, everything I
learnt about bands was done on the job.

There was no camaraderie among the women of Britpop.
In fact, the competition was fierce. It definitely felt like there was
only room for a few of us, and that made for a very bitchy atmosphere.
If there was any sense of shared experience during that era, it was
around drugs. You hung out with the drunkards, or the cokey ones, or
the heroiney ones  or all of the above.

People still recognise me in the street,
which feels bizarre now Im 44. I also get a few people on Twitter
saying, Wow, I was in love with you in 1995. Im not sure how to
respond to that other than to point out that its 2011 and possibly time
to move on.

Im very grateful that Andy (Sleeper drummer turned
music lecturer and Louises partner of 16 years) and I made it through
the Britpop years unscathed. Because everything youve been
told about the moral bankruptcy of that time is sadly true: two men
having sex with one groupie on the tour bus, or female fans lining up
after gigs offering blow jobs. Some people did lose themselves in it
all. Luckily, I've always had a good bullshit detector and I was aware
that although fame was exciting, it was also fragile and would end one
day.

Britpop didn't make me rich. We got about £12,000 for a six-album deal! This fact still makes me want to weep.

I've heard some great rumours about myself.
It's true that Graham Coxon [Blurs guitarist] proposed to me
repeatedly when we toured together, although, he proposed to just about
everybody. Sadly, it's not true that I play one of the ZingZillas on
CBeebies. I havent countered that myth before because I wish I did.

I came to motherhood late.
I had Iris (now five) when I was 39 and Frank two years later. Iris
birth was very traumatic. An inexperienced midwife made some very bad
mistakes and it ended up with me having a blood transfusion. Despite
that, it never affected my bond with Iris. It felt to me from the start
as though it was the two of us versus the rest of the world.

Being a parent means a constant sense of incompletion.
When youre with them, theres always that little bit of the old you,
nagging about what youre missing, and yet, when youre away from them,
you dont feel whole.

It also makes you examine your own childhood.
Looking back, I think my dad had a depressive illness, although he
would never have described it like that. His lack of fulfilment was
certainly the elephant in the room for me and my brother and sister when
we were growing up. The sad thing is he finally started studying law 
his great passion  after retiring, but died soon afterwards. I think my
willingness to throw myself into things that attract me is probably a
reaction to his missed opportunities.

Writing my first novel was about regaining some autonomy.
While I was in Sleeper, there were always people to please  the rest
of the band and the record label. Once I was alone with my little
electric typewriter, it just felt the right thing to do. I wrote two
half-novels and junked them before I started to understand structure,
pacing, timing and character. I was about 10 chapters into what would
become my first novel, Goodnight Steve McQueen, when I knew it was good
enough to send to a publisher.

I draw on people I know when Im writing.
But I dont think friends would recognise themselves in any of my
novels. Its more facets of people I use, rather than faithful copies.
The trick is to embellish your own experience to bring a character to
life.

Sometimes the work/life balance thing doesn't work at all.
Find me any mum who doesn't say that. At the moment, Iris is at school
and Frank goes to nursery two days a week. Even without Andy and me
having to do massive London commutes, there are days when the jigsaw
just will not fit together.

I worry about role models for Iris. There
is something deeply unsettling about whats passing for female
empowerment at the moment. Dont get me wrong, there was a lot wrong for
women back when I was considered a role model, but, back then, nobody
was getting their boobs out  not in the music business, anyway. I
dont, for example, get why Cheryl Cole is such an idol for women. We
have taken a step backwards as far as feminism is concerned and not many
people appear to be questioning that. As the mother of a daughter,
thats worrying.

I've suddenly got a yen to get married.
Having had no particular inclination for it before  Im not religious
and I certainly dont need the government to approve my relationship  I
now have a little germ of a fantasy to do it. Maybe in a year or so
when the kids are both old enough to join in and to remember it. Im not
interested in the frock or any of that stuff, but the idea of a big old
knees-up for my friends and everyone I love is getting more and more
attractive.

Letting go is good to do. When Sleeper broke
up, I felt like Id been demobbed but, at the same time, knew that I
would never start up a solo career. I accepted that that phase of my
life was over (my mum helpfully told me that I could always go and work
in a shop). If I could go back now and talk to that younger me who was
leaving the band, I would tell her, Dont regret it. Youve done
something hardly anybody else gets to do. You've lived the dream, it was
fun, and now its time to move on. Its all right and its going to get
better.

Just For One Day: Adventures In Britpop, by Louise Wener (Ebury Press, £7.99), is published on June 9th